Senses
by MarciaRebafan
Summary: Jibbs. Five senses plus a bonus to describe scenes of the everyday life.
1. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

Like most of you probably know, there are many stories based on the five senses in the Jibbs fandom; most likely, this is caused by the importance of senses in the interaction between Jenny and Gibbs.  
Despite the abundance of said fics, I decided to write my own offering to Jibbs and senses.

This was inspired by many things **elflordmistress** taught me, and by something **USAFChief** said to me. Hence, this project goes out in dedication to the two of them, for being respectively an amazing mentor and a fantastic reader (and reviewer!).

**USAFChief**, I guess this can be considered 'practice'. In hopes that, as they say, practice will make perfect.

Also, this story was not beta'd and English still isn't my first language, so I hope you can bear with me and my grammar mistakes.

Marzia


	2. Jethro

He likes the way she walks out of a room, his eyes following her retreating form.

He enjoys watching her when she's working, in the comfortable silence of her study.

He observes the way her elegant manicured hand holds the pen, fascinated by the many expressions appearing on her face while she reads a report.

He likes to see her pearly white teeth bared in a smile ever so often when she looks at him.

* * *

He likes the sound of her voice, when they are in the comfort of his basement, sometimes discussing cases while he works on his boat.

He's amused by her tone when she barks orders at fellow agents, stepping fully into her director persona.

He relishes the ticking of her heels on the concrete floor, the sound that always precedes her entrance and has him waiting with well-concealed yet bated breath.

He likes to hear her moans when they're making love, and he takes pride in the knowledge that he's the one responsible for them.

He loves the sound of the silence between them, when words aren't really necessary and they can just spend time together, focused on each other's breathing.

* * *

He revels in the way her skin feels under his hands, smooth and soft, only roughened by some scar here and there.

He likes to touch her hair and feel the silky red locks slip between his fingers, and he is reminded of red satin against his skin when it's sprawled all over his chest while she sleeps wrapped in his arms.

He enjoys the shock of pleasure running through him when his fingers brush against hers as he hands her a cup of coffee he brought her; his own way to let her know he's been thinking about her.

He likes to run his hands up her long legs, feeling the taut, firm muscles of her calves underneath his fingertips.

He feels the need to touch her. With his hands, with his mouth; worshipping her body with a devotion that shows just how much he loves her with no need to verbalize his feelings.

* * *

He likes the smell of her shampoo: a delicate, peachy scent that lingers on his pillow for days after she spent the night at his house.

He likes the smell of her arousal, the intoxicating scent that makes it so hard for him to restrain himself when she's writhing in his bed, gripping the sheets as perspiration donates a translucent glow to her skin.

He likes the musky, erotic smell of sex that permeates the room after they make love. It clings to her body, radiating from her skin with the heat she passes on to him while they're tangled in each other's arms, basking in the after-glow.

He's addicted to her perfume. It's sweet and spicy. It smells expensive. It's classy, with a hint of something wild.

It reminds him of her.

* * *

He likes the taste of her skin after a shower, when it's still flushed and glistening with drops of water. He just can't help himself from kissing every inch of her he can reach, when they have time; only settling for nibbling on her shoulders while she gets ready if they don't.

He likes to kiss her after their morning run, the salty savour of her sweat lingering on his lips.

It's an addicting taste, that is all Jenny.

* * *

She likes to tease him about his "gut feeling"; she pretends not to trust it.

He lets her have her fun.

Because in the end, they both know that it's his gut that always brings him to her when she needs him the most.


	3. Jenny

She likes to watch him as he works on his boat, while she sits on his workbench in the basement; she lets her eyes free to roam his body, observing the strong muscles on his back tense and ripple under his old NIS T-shirt.

She likes to stop on the catwalk to look at him on her way to MTAC. Somehow he always senses her eyes on him. And when their eyes meet, if only for a fleeting moment, she is reminded once again of how easy it is for her to read him.

She likes to watch him interact with kids, as though he had spent his whole life around children. She knows he would be a terrific father. And while she watches him play with little Zach down in the bullpen, she can envision herself years from now; a baby seat in the back of her town car and a diaper bag next to her briefcase, feeding a blue-eyed baby boy while reading reports in her study.

It is almost endearing.

Almost.

* * *

She likes the way he answers his phone, the commanding bark that used to intimidate her just a little when she was his probie. Only after Marseille did it completely stop being the slightest bit frightening. But by then she already noticed how his voice took on an imperceptibly softer note when he knew it was her.

It feels good to hear his ragged, laboured breath in her ear while they're lost in each other, making love with an intensity that scares her sometimes. And when he rasps out her name, collapsing on top of her, she can't help the smile spreading across her face as she realizes once again that she's gotten under his skin as much as he's gotten under hers.

* * *

She likes how unnaturally warm he always is, even on the coldest winter nights. She likes to snuggle into his side and steal his body heat while she's wrapped tightly in his arms; his calloused fingers raising goose bumps as they run over her skin in a caress that is completely unhurried and yet deeply sensual.

She likes to take her time exploring his body with her hands and lips, getting acquainted over and over again with the sensitive spots that are likely to elicit the best responses from him and using the knowledge to her advantage.

She spends hours, sometimes, just laying next to him and touching his face; tracing the lines with her petite fingers, smoothing the hard edges and taking great pride in the way he just relaxes and drops his defences under her soothing touch.

She is fond of the cold metal of his dog tags nestled between her breasts at all times; the most tangible reminder of him when they are apart.

* * *

She likes the aromatic scent of wood, a smell she easily became accustomed to after he spent hours teaching her how to sand his boat. She associates the smell with the musky scent of his perspiration dampening his T-shirt while his arms are around her, his hands pushing hers while he teaches her to sand with the grain of the wood.

She is happy that he decides not to wear any cologne, so that she can still smell the distinctive scent of sawdust lingering all around him.

The soothing fragrance that will always be just his.

* * *

She likes bourbon. An acquired taste that never quite left her after the first time she tried it. She finds the burning sensation of the liquor tumbling down her throat soothing somehow.

She likes coffee, too. Jamaican blend, with no sugar nor cream. She has gotten used to that after working with him for years. Just like she got used to the sting of bourbon.

Now she likes to taste the characteristic savour of coffee and bourbon on his lips. A taste that never leaves his mouth, a bittersweet flavour that is addictive in itself.

But it becomes intoxicating when mixed with another distinctive taste that she can only identify as Jethro.

* * *

She sometimes refers to it as "female sixth sense", despite the annoying cliché she has never been comfortable with.

It's always there; a flutter in her stomach, an inexplicably shallow intake of breath. Something she cannot express or even quite describe.

But it's the one thing that always tells her when he needs her close to chase away his old demons, or when she should just step back and give him the space he needs to work it out on his own.


End file.
